


In the Morning

by cowgirldressage1



Series: All Day Long [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Old Married Spirk Challenge, oms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 03:02:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8561068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirldressage1/pseuds/cowgirldressage1
Summary: Jim's feeling old and lonely but there is a pleasant surprise waiting for him.  In this, Generations (phew-phew) never ever happened so it is set after The Final Frontier.  It is the first in a series, All Day Long.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plaidshirtjimkirk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/gifts).



> This is dedicated to Plaidshirtjimkirk who actually made me write something. Bless.

In the Morning

Jim had always been an early riser. He’d been raised on a farm, for Ghod’s sake, and served in Starfleet for decades. So, when he found himself lingering in bed and heard the antique clock downstairs quietly chime nine bells, he was surprised and a bit shocked by the late hour.

He squinted irritably at the bedside chronometer and yawned. Sitting up quickly was a mistake. Old joints creaked and complained. His bladder demanded relief at once and he felt crusty and ancient sitting in the briefs he’d gone to bed in.

With a groan, Jim hoisted himself off the bed, briefly scratched an itch he’d never touch in public, and padded flat-footed over the old wood floor to the washroom. Barely glancing in the mirror, he washed up and took care of his morning business. 

He leaned on the porcelain sink and blearily glared at his reflection. Gone was the golden boy with the straw colored hair, the firm skin, and the peerless bone structure. What was left was an old man with blurred features, aged skin and graying hair, rough and curled tight to his scalp. He scrubbed the stubble on his chin, mostly white now and disturbingly sparse. Jim could literally feel his vitality draining away.

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Jim’s voice was lower and harsher than he remembered. “And what have you done with Jim Kirk?” Since his reflection declined to answer, he shook his head and shuffled to the closet to dress. 

Jeans three sizes larger than he wore just ten years ago were hard to button at the waist. The t-shirt he would have been swimming in when he was Captain of the Enterprise was tight through the stomach and looser through the shoulders and arms. It even rode up a bit in the front, exposing his substantial girth. Jim muttered something about shrinking fabric but knew it was a lie. He was simply old and fat. 

With a sound of disgust, he carefully made his way downstairs, each step a bit less painful than the first as his arthritic feet gradually warmed up. At the foot of the stairs, he was greeted by Dial, the elderly orange tabby who had adopted him a few years ago. Dial wound around his ankles and purred, wanting company and perhaps breakfast. Jim stiffly bent and scratched him on the shoulder while sidestepping over a whipping tail. The old cat followed him into the kitchen.

Jim didn’t really cook but did he assemble meals. After years in the service, he’d developed a dislike of replicated food and so his kitchen, unlike many of his peers, was functional. He didn’t bother to turn on any lights because the late morning sunlight filled the high-ceilinged room with an amber glow. He missed space but this soft natural light made him grateful for his investment years ago in this old Victorian just off Golden Gate Park. Leaning against the sink, he removed Dial from the kitchen counter for the third time. 

Jim fussed a bit, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot. He didn’t remember setting it up the night before but there it was, hot and steaming. His lapse in memory was forgivable. Still, he frowned, annoyed at himself. 

Jim took a sip and looked out the kitchen window. A small smile appeared. Below him in the garden was a kneeling figure, weeding the well-tended rows of vegetables and fruits. He knew the outlines of that hunched body as well as his own reflection. He also had an explanation for his coffee. 

Spock was home. 

Warmth started in his gut and traveled slowly to his eyes which filled with tears. Jim felt longing, sadness, and a deep affection that didn’t quite chase away his loneliness of the last few weeks. His lover, his bond mate, his husband, had been away at a conference for twenty-one days, eight hours and a handful of minutes. Yes, Jim had kept track. As each day ticked by, he’d fallen deeper and deeper into a depression, a feeling of uselessness that was not really at odds with his mercurial nature. He’d felt Spock’s concern and frustration across the void of their separation but the relentless feeling of being left behind, of being irrelevant, hadn’t gone away.

 

Jim let his eyes travel over Spock’s form, watching the pile of weeds on the garden pathway grow larger with every passing minute. He wondered if he had become an emotional burden, burying his partner in his selfish dependency. Spock would never complain, would deny Jim was anything other than his love. But Jim knew Spock’s life was richer, busier, more important now that he was taking on diplomatic roles at the Vulcan Embassy. Jim was a redundancy. 

He leaned on the counter and mentally waved away his own responsibilities; chairing assorted committees and teaching command strategies at Starfleet Academy. Jim could walk away from all of them and be replaced without a second thought. 

Spock was different. It had taken him a long time to come into his own, to reflect with confidence on his newfound duties and completely take charge. It didn’t happen in a moment or over a day. Decades had passed before he embraced his worth. Once, he doubted any decision he made intuitively, relying on the crutch of logic. Now, he wore his conviction like a cloak. Few questioned him. Jim might be the exception but his opinion was always valued, considered, and cherished.

Dial was on the counter again, head butting Jim’s shoulder frantically. Whether he sensed Jim’s feelings or was demanding attention, only he knew. With the heel of his hand, Jim furiously wiped his eyes, angry at his emotionalism and frustrated by his vulnerability. When he looked through the window again, Spock was gone. 

For a second, Jim thought he might have imagined him. Maybe, in addition to getting old, he was also losing his mind. He shivered and then startled when long arms wound around his waist. 

“Spock.” Jim said his name like a mantra, leaning back into Spock’s arms and covering his lover’s hands with his own.

Spock didn’t say Jim was being foolish and emotional. He said nothing at all. He held Jim tighter and opened up the bond in his mind. It felt like sinking into a warm stream of colors so deep they sang and rang out like bells. He felt Spock on a molecular level, deep satisfaction curling from him like smoke, heavy and redolent.

“Jim.” Spock’s deep baritone rumbled against Jim’s back. “I have missed you.”

Jim closed his eyes and released some of the tension he was holding. The universe had been skewed but now righted itself because Spock was home. He felt a pang of remorse that Spock was well aware of how he’d let his emotions get the best of him. Spock didn’t need words to remind Jim that when the bond stretched thin for too long over a distance, both suffered in their individual ways. 

Reunited again though, everything leveled out. Except Dial. He still needed to be fed. Immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel bad being so rough on Jim but in the next installment, In the Afternoon, you'll have Spock's perspective.


End file.
